The Bishop of Trebizond did not approve of the fair; indeed, he abhorred it entirely, by reason of the fact that it led God's most vulnerable children into doubt and error. He particularly disliked the potion sellers who preyed on the childless, the crippled, and the easily confused. "Worse than poison!" was his judgement on the concoctions they dispensed. "Dogs' piss and vinegar would do a body more good," he concluded, "and that you can get for nothing! They sell their vile concoctions at exorbitant rates to those least able to afford them, and then give their poor victims pernicious lies to swallow along with their foul elixirs. Soothsayers! Diviners! Magicians! I condemn them all."

Despite the bishop's censure, the people flocked to the fair, and most seemed to enjoy it-especially the farmers and village folk, many of whom brought their animals to the city for sale and trade. I respectfully submitted to the bishop that they could hardly be held to blame who had no priests to teach them or offer a better example.

"I have no qualm or sympathy for the pagani," Bishop Arius asserted with some vigour. He had come to the eparch's residence to pay his respects to the imperial envoy and, seeing that I was a monk-for so he perceived me-inquired after me while waiting for Nicephorus to receive him. We fell into discussion of the crowded conditions in the city, and one subject led onto another, as they will. "Unbelievers are none of my concern; they can do what they please. But Christians should not be seen supporting such confabulations. The wickedness proceeding from these fairs cannot be exaggerated."

"Indeed," I allowed, "yet there are Christians among the astrologers and seers. I was always taught that such practices were an abomination."

"Then you were well taught," replied the bishop tartly. "All such devilry is an abomination in the sight of God. Those are no true Christians you saw holding forth with the seers and soothsayers."

"Are they not?"

"Be not deceived, son. They are Paulicians." He said the word as if it were the name of a particularly hideous disease.

I had never heard of this sect, and told Arius so.

"Would that no one had ever heard of them," he said pointedly. "Forewarned is forearmed, so know this: they are members of a heretical sect which promulgates the instruction of a misguided apostate-a man who styled himself a teacher, yet whose teaching was far, far removed from that of his blessed namesake."

He spoke with such vehemence, I wondered what they could believe that would arouse such wrath. "These Paulicians," I inquired, "is it that they believe a false doctrine? Or that they lead others astray with their teaching? Either way, why not simply excommunicate them and ban the belief?"

"That was done," the bishop affirmed, "and accomplished with admirable vigour. But as sometimes happens, driving them out of the church has only made the sect stronger. It is no longer simply a matter of belief; their very existence is an offence against Heaven and all true Christians. What is more, they have amassed such power in certain quarters so as to choke out the very truth. Their doctrine-if the word can be used-is a perverted accretion of errors, lies, and half-truths." Arius appeared to have swallowed something sour. "These Paulicians propound that God created only the heavens and the celestial lights, while the Evil One created earth and all upon it. Every other tenet of their belief flows from this."

I observed that many people held such views-if not overtly, then at least in their tacit response to the world. "Many who call themselves Christians," I suggested, "behave in such a way as to reveal a true belief in no way dissimilar to that which these Paulicians teach."

The bishop rolled his eyes. "How well I know it, my friend. I have been twenty-eight years in the church, mind. No, no, it is not their assertion of an evil creator that is most offensive-if only they had stopped there! How much misery would have been prevented, only God can say. But they compound their sins, and go on adding lie to lie.

"For example, they say that the Lord Christ was merely an angel sent from Heaven to wage war against the Evil One," Bishop Arius replied, his mouth squirming with distaste. "They insist that the Virgin Mary is but an ordinary woman, unworthy of devotion, or veneration, or indeed any special consideration. They hold not to Holy Scripture at all, and preach that all men are free to follow their own dictates since the laws laid down by God were for the Hebrews of old, and no longer concern right-thinking human beings. Accordingly, they do not believe in marriage, or any other sacrament, nor the primacy of the church, nor even baptism."

"Shocking, to be sure," I conceded, warming to the debate. How long had it been since I had discussed such matters of doctrine in a learned manner? "Still, they sound harmless enough." Heresies abounded in the East, as everyone knew; and many were much worse than the benighted Paulicians.

"That is where you are wrong," the churchman corrected. "They are not content to preach and teach, but persist in fomenting riots and uprisings in the provinces."

"Over baptism?" I wondered aloud.

"Over taxes," corrected the bishop. "Four thousand peasants and farmers were killed the last time. For this cause, and all the rest, they were purged from Constantinople. It is our misfortune that they fled east and now reside almost wholly in these much-disputed territories-at least, that is what is said. I have reason to believe, however, that very many yet reside in Constantinople, secretly, gnawing away like rats at the substance of the Holy Church. Rumour has it that some have even wormed their way to the very foot of the throne."

"What do they want in Trebizond?" I wondered.

"They come here for the fair, like everyone else," replied Arius. "They come from Tarsus, from Marash and Raqqa in the south, where it is said they have made alliance with the Muhammedans. In exchange for allegiance, the caliph allows them to practise their abominable religion. They are ever seeking converts among the discontented."

I was on the point of asking him for a description of these Muhammedans when Nicephorus appeared and I was dismissed, whereupon I left the house and hastened to my consultation with Amet.

As I walked along the much-constricted street to the forum, I could not help reflecting on the fact that despite whatever Bishop Arius might say, the fair was well-attended by the humble churchgoers of Trebizond. Tiny golden crosses were purchased right alongside glass amulets to be worn as protection against the evil eye-for if angels stood ready to aid the God-fearing, then demons were just as eager to harm them; and if Christians could command angels, then the wicked could certainly command devils.

In this and other ways, it seemed to me that most of the bishop's flock were far closer to these Paulicians he despised, than to his orthodoxy. Still, it was merely a matter of passing interest; I told myself that I was finished with such tedious matters of the faith. The rise or fall of an obscure sect was nothing to me.

These thoughts occupied me as I made my way among the magicians' stalls set up in the forum: crystal-gazers and potion-makers, men who foretold the future in the livers of freshly killed animals, the amulet-sellers, purveyors of incense and readers of knucklebones and gopher sticks.

In the encampment of the astrologers, I found Magus Amet in much the same posture as I had left him the day before. He opened his eyes at my arrival, welcomed me, and bade me to sit, patting the cushion beside him. Then, turning to a copper pot which was steaming over a small fire, he lifted the vessel and poured a thin brown liquid into two tiny glass cups sitting on a brass tray. Holding the tray, he offered me a cup, saying, "Refresh yourself, my friend."